OSGAMC ORIGINAL DRAFT
by Bitchii-Usa
Summary: This is the original draft of my story, Of Sungods and Moonchildren, a Killua x Gon fic (found under my stories). To celebrate all of you amazing guys, here's what I originally had planned. Enjoy!


Chapter 1

 _SO HERE IT IS GUYS, THE ORIGINAL DRAFT OF HOW OSGAMC WAS GOING TO GO. I CHANGED MY MIND, BUT I DON'T LIKE THIS ANY LESS THAT I ORIGINALLY DID. I THOUGHT YOU GUYS MIGHT BE INTERESTED, AND I WOULD STILL LOVE YOUR FEEDBACK!_

 _HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY, PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!_

 _-BITCHII-USA_

* * *

 **Killua**

 _September 28, 2014_

I've never realized how much I love the rain.

Watching the droplets of water run off of the window are hypnotizing; beads in a race to see who can make it to the end first.

I feel as if I, too, could be a drop of rain. Or rather, that's how my life appears to be set up.

 _Racing…always racing to get somewhere…_

Today is one of those days where everyone who comes into the shop looks depressed or angry because of the gloomy weather, and I'm the outsider who can't wipe the smug grin off of my face. I can see they're upset, probably calling me an asshole of some sort as I hand them their cups of coffee. But it only eggs me on further-their reactions make the day race on.

But now we're at a standstill again, the rain has caused people to stop coming in and out of shops. Not even for 6.99 _apple and pumpkin Fall Special Latte!_

Damn, Bisky is getting in my head again.

"Killua! If you have time to lean, you have time to clean!"

And as if on cue, she's also in my face again.

I sigh, as I take the mop that she shoves into my hands with such force that I stumble backwards slightly. I can't help but glare at her; she really drives me insane.

"Not every second of the day needs to be spent with working, Bisky. There is such a thing as break times."

I can see her nostrils flare up at my words; I think I've done a record job of getting under her skin. "You ass! After I went out of my way to hire you even when I told you I didn't need the help, and you can't do a simple thing as mop?" Her eyes shine with anger as she points to the sign behind me, the same sign that she uses every time she wants to give me a scolding. "No one wants to drink coffee in a dirty place, Killua!"

I roll my eyes as I take yet _another_ look at the white posterboard with the angry red X in the middle. Underneath the X is a picture of the shop on its most cluttered day-also known as my first day of working here.

"I get it, I get it, I told you I wouldn't let it get that bad again. Besides," I turn to the _empty_ shop and use my hands as exaggeration, " _no one_ would care because _no one_ is here!"

If this was a cartoon, smoke would fly out of her ears.

She shoves the mop in my hands again, and stomps away mumbling something about me being a hassle. I can't help but chuckle at how easily she can be provoked. I'm pretty terrible, this I know.

In truth, I have a lot to thank Bisky for. She and her old colleague, Wing, opened a small coffee shop in the college town where I attend school. I begged her for a job so I can keep a roof over my head, and after weeks of turning me down, she finally-and reluctantly-gave me one. If she hadn't, then that meant that I'd have to go back home.

I would _die_ before I ever let that happen.

I push the mop around, pretending that I'm painting a canvas as the suds fill the cracks in the tile. I can't help but hum a tune in my head as I recall what I learned in painting class last week. _Blending colors with oil paint,_ or some fancy jazz like that. Art had always been a waste of time, according to my family, but it was one of the few things to calm the raging beast inside of me. Going to a _real_ school and learning things outside of politics gives me the type of pleasure I can taste on my tongue at night.

But it's still not enough.

I don't even hear the door chime, as I'm too busy lost in the water canvas that I'm working on.

"Excuse me? I would like some coffee!"

The voice rose in pitch, as if it had been trying to grab my attention for endless hours, snapping me out of my trance. I followed it to its owner, some jock-y looking kid.

"Hmm? Sorry." I take my time as I circle around the counter, not really caring about the showmanship of customer service. Although this town offers me some solidarity, the assholes that infiltrate the area are endless. Most of them take me for a punk, I can tell, due to my tall lankiness.

They have no idea of the truth, and I have no intentions of letting them find out otherwise.

"So what can I get you?" I can't hide the irritation in my voice, as I watch his honey eyes survey the menu. I want to tell him so badly that there' s literally only _four_ flavors he can choose from, but I don't want to hear any more of Bisky's chastising. This guy appears to be extremely oblivious the attitude that I'm seeping out of my pores, as if he has a magnetic shield in front of his face.

"Let's see…." He puts a finger under his chin as he roams his eyes back and forth from the limited selection. In a second, I will have to drum the countertops to emphasize my impatience. He looks down at me and smiles awkwardly. "I honestly have no idea!"

I can't control the blankness that has invaded my face.

I'm trying very hard to make sure my next words aren't venom, but this spider is ready to bite. "Well, sir, we have caramel, mocha, vanilla, or the Apple and Pumpkin Fall Special. You can get them in hot, frappe or a latte. All up to you." I notice his eyes glimmer with happiness at my last flavor suggestion.

"I'll take the Apple Special!"

"You can't get that separately, sir. It's a premixed flavoring." Another one of Bisky's dumb ideas.

"Okay, then I'll take Pumpkin!"

"Sir, as I have stated," a sigh escapes my lips before I have a chance to control it, "you can't order them separately. They come premixed." I can, however, control the string of ' _idiots'_ that I unleash at this simple guy in my head. I can't blame him though, you can't have looks and smarts, and he's already got the 'girls-come-running' thing going for him.

His smile dissipates as he glances over my name tag.

"Well, Keel-oooh-uh," I have to roll my eyes at his exaggerated enunciation of my name, "What do you recommend?"

"I don't drink coffee, sir. And it's just Killua."

He laughs, as if I have been doing standup instead of trying to take his order. I want to call him an asshole, but he seems genuinely amused. _Idiot_ will have to be a sufficient adjective again, I suppose.

"Sorry about that, Killua. It's just a bit strange that you work in a coffee shop and you don't drink the stuff!"

"Well, some of us need to work to actually make it." I glance over his wardrobe, and while it was nothing too spectacular, I can't shake this need to let this guy know that I am a hardworking citizen.

Or, rather just a guy who wanted this small talk to end already.

"Tell you what, Killua-" I was really starting to regret telling him my name and his smooth, musky voice said it with a grin, "- _you_ surprise me. I trust that you won't steer me wrong."

I absent mindedly choose the popular caramel frappe, and glare at the man in front of me. "Trust is a big word to use towards someone you don't know, don't you think?"

He smiles, genuinely again, as he pulls out his wallet. "Everyone needs a little trust, and if I can't do a simple thing as trust the guy who's making my coffee, then how will I trust someone to, I don't know, perform surgery on me?"

His logic is beyond comprehension, but I can tell he's not the kind of guy to back down from his ideals. I raise my hand in defeat.

"Okay, you got it. I won't argue with you, and that will be 6 bucks."

"Wow you guys are the cheapest in town!" He hands me the money and warmly smiles at me in return. I instantly put up my steel wall inside as the warmness tries to creep into me, swatting it away like a pesky fly. Maybe customer service wasn't the right route to take for someone like me. I take his money and step to the side of the counter to make his coffee.

I can't help the thoughts that are pouring in my head. This guy certainly doesn't act how he looks, if that's an alright thing to say. His tan skin and muscled physique give him _more_ than enough credit to act like a douche, and his honey eyes and black hair should only accentuate his rudeness.

But there's something about him that makes me _almost_ feel bad for pre judging him. And the fact that he hasn't managed to take his eyes off of me since I started making his order isn't helping.

"Wow, you're so good at that!" He looks and sounds thoroughly impressed. Hasn't this kid ever made coffee at home?

"It's, uh, no big deal? Just coffee, ice and flavorings, that's all."

"I'm sure I would find some way to mess it up," he rubs a hand on the back of his head and laughs sheepishly. "My aunt calls me a walking tornado."

"Hmm, well I guess you need to find a new aunt."

He laughs at my sarcasm; not sporting the offensive face that any other customer would show me. I finish his order with whipped cream- "extra, please!"- to his standards and return to the counter.

"Here you go. There are straws to the left and napkins to your right. Have a good day." I had planned on making that come out forcefully, but it slipped out of my mouth like vomit before I had a chance to catch myself.

He takes a long whiff of his frappe before dunking a straw in it. I don't even know this guy, but I can tell that everything he does is honest to who he is at heart. He slams his straw into the container as if he is punishing the lid. He makes no qualms at the whipped cream that flies to the sides of his cheeks, instead happily gulping down his sugary concoction of a drink.

"Mmmmm, it's so good!" He closes his eyes in delight, and I find myself envious for a brief second of how carefree he appears to be. "Thank you so much, Killua! I'll definitely be back to buy more!"

"Really, it's no big deal," I almost don't want to offend him, due to his genuine gratitude that he flung at me, "I'm just doing my job."

"Well, you do it well!"

Did he just _wink_ at me?

He turns to walk out the door before stopping and turning back to me.

"Consider me a loyal customer! I'll probably be back later on today! My name's Gon, by the way."

I wave my hand at him, remembering the mopping that he interrupted only moments before. He smiles again before leaving for good.

Gon, eh?

Be back later, you say?

This, I could prematurely tell, will be a problem.


End file.
